City of the Lost (47 page)

I work methodically, reading each page. Dalton will be in the forest for hours. I’m in no rush, the fire is blazing, his couch is comfortable, and I’ve made a hot chocolate chaser for my sandwich.

The last page in Mick’s file is for a guy named Calvin James. He’s the only one Dalton didn’t have in his book, which means this must be Mick’s own detective work. James was a soldier who walked into his commanding officer’s bedroom and shot him dead while he slept. Then he walked out … and shot and wounded two other men. He disappeared while being transferred to a military jail stateside.

I read that page three times. Then I set it aside, and I stare at the fire, and I tell myself that I should be ashamed of the conclusions I’m drawing.

Mine was in the military. Killed someone who didn’t deserve to die.

When the door flies open, I’m still staring into that fire. I keep staring as footsteps pound across the floor, even as I hear Anders say, “Casey?”

I turn, and I look at him, and that’s all I can do. I look, and I tell myself I’m wrong. I must be wrong, but I can’t stop thinking it.

“Casey?”

It takes a moment to rise out of my thoughts, and when I do, I see Anders—really see him—sweat streaming down his face, his eyes round.

“It’s Eric,” he says. “I lost him. We were out there, and we were sticking together, and then—I don’t even know how it happened. I stepped away for a second to take a piss, and I barely even turned my back and—”

“And he’s gone,” I say, and my voice is an odd monotone. “You lost him.”

His brow furrows. “Right. Did … did you take something? For the pain?”

“Yes,” I say, in that same hollow voice.

He exhales hard. “Okay, okay. So you’re a little out of it. But I need you to come with me. Can you do that?”

“Go into the forest with you.”

“Right.”

“To look for Eric.”

He swears under his breath. “Shit, you’re really out of it.”

“Just take me to him.”

“I don’t know where—”

“Take me to him.”

He nods and grabs my coat. I put it on and follow him out.

It’s dusk now, darkening into night. Normally, we’d take lanterns, but we don’t bother with those, using the flashlights we keep in our jackets instead. As we walk into the forest, I still tell myself I’m wrong. I have to be, because if I’m not, what does that mean for …

Eric
.

Oh God, Eric.

I keep going back to that moment in my house, when I saw Anders reading Mick’s list and the look on his face when I caught him.

“Since I’m professionally allowed to be nosy, I’m guessing that’s a list of real names?”

“Hmm?”

“Real names of locals.”

“Something like that.”

Something like that.

As soon as I can take advantage of the narrowing path, I fall behind him. We’re about a kilometre in. I go another hundred steps—yes, I count every damned one of them. Then I say, “Calvin?”

I expect a “Huh?” I
hope
for one. Desperately, desperately hope. But he jerks to a halt, his shoulders stiffening, and he stands there with his back to me.

“It is Calvin, isn’t it?”

He turns then, and in his face I expect to see the final proof. Cold anger or maybe even a twisted smirk.

Yep, you got me, Casey.

But there’s none of that. He turns, and all I see is Will Anders. Even when he notices the gun, pointing straight at him, he only closes his eyes and dips his chin, and says, “Okay,” and it’s not as if he’s saying, “Okay, you’re right,” but, “Okay, go ahead.”

Okay, pull the trigger.

“Where is he?” I say.

He opens his eyes. “What?”

“Where is Eric? What have you done with him?”

He blinks hard, as if trying to process what I’ve said. “Eric? You think—? No. I didn’t—” He starts toward me, but I raise the gun and he stops. “I would never do anything to Eric, Casey. Never.”

“Because he
saved
you.”

Emphatic nods. “Right. He did. He—”

“So he knows what you did.”

Silence.

“He knows who you are and what you did? Yet he trusted that you’d never do anything to him? You. The man who murdered his last commanding officer.”

“That—” He stops. Swallows.

“That was different? The other guy deserved it and Eric doesn’t?”

At least five seconds of silence now. “The other guy didn’t deserve it. Not at all.”

“So Eric
doesn’t
know what you are, and I’m sure he doesn’t know that you’ve been playing stool pigeon for the council. That was your price of admission. You spy on Eric.”

It’s a shot in the dark, but he says, “It’s not like that. It was at first, because, yes, that’s the price of me being here, and now I only tell them things they can’t go after him for.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

At a noise in the forest, he starts and looks over. “We need to find him, Casey.”

“You killed all of them, didn’t you? Were you trying to frame Eric? Take his job?”

“What?
No
. I have nothing to do with what’s happening here. You’re looking for a killer and, yes, I’m a killer. But I’m not the one who did this.
Any
of this. Please, Casey. We need to find him. I swear, if I’m responsible, you can shoot me. Hell, if I hurt Eric, I’ll shoot myself.”

“You realize that makes no sense, right?”

He pounds one fist against his thigh. “Because I’m completely freaking out here. Eric didn’t just wander off. Someone else has him, probably his crazy brother. The one who, in case you’ve forgotten, vowed revenge on Eric. I’ll walk in front of you. Keep the gun on me. Shoot if I try to run. But we
need to get moving.
”

“Turn around. Raise your hands. I’m going to pat you down and take your weapons. Then you’ll show me where you lost him.”

To say I don’t trust Anders would be the understatement of the decade. He’d spent two years fooling Dalton, who is one of the best judges of character I know. I won’t say the same for my character-judging skills—Diana is proof that I suck at it—but at least I’d known she has her faults. Being a cold-blooded killer is not a fault I’d ever have attributed to Will Anders, and there isn’t a single person in Rockton who would. “The nicest person,” “a real sweetheart,” “just an all-around good guy”—those were the only ways I ever heard anyone describe him. Which must mean he is a helluva fine actor, and this panic is simply an extension of that act.

But is Anders the Rockton killer? It feels like the answer should be a huge “Duh!” He could easily have lured his victims out—everyone trusts him. He proved he’s strong enough to easily haul Hastings into that tree. And he has the medical know-how to have performed that horrific surgery. There is probably no one in Rockton who fits the killer’s profile better than Will Anders.

The problem? Motive.

With Mick, I can hammer the pieces to fit the puzzle, even if my brain keeps rejecting the parts that don’t fit, like why he’d mutilated his victims when, after his partner was horribly tortured, he’d executed the killers with a shot to the back of the skull. With Anders it’s worse, and I feel as if I’m pounding those pieces in with a sledgehammer
.

This doesn’t add up for either of them. I’m missing something critical.

Yet I’m still certain Anders knows exactly where to find Dalton. Of course, he can’t lead me there right away. He has to take me to the spot where he last saw him and pace, shining his flashlight around saying, “Shit, he tried to teach me how to track. Why didn’t I pay more attention? Did he show you anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then…” An exasperated wave at the forest.

“Sorry, let me start hunting for that trail, while turning my back to you…”

“Goddamn it! Fine. Let’s make this easy. You have cable ties, don’t you?”

He knows I do. I took two from him during the pat-down.

He puts his flashlight away, his hands behind his back and turns around. “Cuff me.”

I do. Then I make him sit on the ground while I hunt. When I find signs, he says, “That’s where we came in.” Then, “That’s where I left.”

“All right.” I walk to the first stop. “He’s doubled back on this trail. Get up and walk ten paces behind me, whistling.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that an inconvenience?” I walk over as he rises and put my gun under his chin. “You know why I’m in Rockton. I hunted down my ex and shot him.”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that.
You
aren’t like that.”

“Don’t play that card, pretend we’re buddies and you know me and I know you. However it went down, I murdered him, and I don’t know if he deserved it, but
you
do. So do not think for one second that I won’t shoot you. Now you will walk ten paces behind me and you will whistle.”

We find Dalton. I only need to follow his trail for about ten minutes before I hear his voice. When I hear the second voice, I break into a run.

I try to sneak up, but it’s a choice between stealth and speed, and I finally give in, turn off my flashlight and rely on the bright moon to guide me as I tear through the forest. I slow when I draw near enough to see Jacob’s figure in a clearing, and I’m about to call a warning, but I see his arm rise and I don’t think—I’m on the ground, a bullet whizzing past.

“Casey!” Dalton says. “Stay where you are!”

I lay there, heart pounding.

“I’m okay, Casey,” Dalton says. “Just stay where you are. We’re working this out.”

I could almost laugh at that. His brother is holding him hostage. Bullets are whizzing past.
But don’t worry, Casey, we’re working it out.
So typically Dalton that I’m not sure if I want to smile or cry or scream at him.

“Jacob?” he says. “Focus on me, Jacob.”

He speaks slowly, his voice low, like calming a wild beast, and when Jacob answers, it’s only a grunt. Dalton keeps talking, in that same soothing voice. He tells his brother something’s wrong, that Jacob knows something’s wrong, that he can feel it, and they can get this fixed, that Dalton will do whatever it takes to get it fixed.

Dalton continues with variations on that and doesn’t get more than a grunt or two from Jacob, which tells me the situation has gotten worse, his brother unable even to articulate his rage. But Jacob does seem to be listening.

I can see Jacob through the trees. There’s no sign of Dalton— I’m presuming he’s sitting or lying down. When Dalton speaks, Jacob turns toward him. He even lowers the gun. At any noise from the forest, he wheels my way. Twice he fires. Then his brother’s voice lures him in again, and he forgets me.

I have two choices here. I can trust that Dalton will eventually calm Jacob enough for me to get his gun. Or I can provoke Jacob until he empties the clip. Except I can’t control where he fires those bullets, not enough to be sure one won’t be aimed at his brother. More than that, I trust Dalton in this. He’s making progress.

I stay crouched and pick the clearest path from tree to tree. Jacob does hear noises and turns twice, but it’s just animals in the forest. I’m finally close enough to see Dalton. He’s sitting with his back against a tree, hands on his head. He doesn’t spot me. I make sure of that. He’s slowly talking Jacob down, and I’ll do nothing to distract him.

Jacob paces the clearing. He wears the same clothing as when he attacked me. I can see my dried blood on them. He’s filthy, his hair even more snarled, with bits of twigs and leaves caught in it, as if he’s been sleeping on the ground.

“I know I left you,” Dalton is saying. “I went away, and I didn’t come back. I made a mistake. A stupid, selfish mistake. I left you, and I will never stop regretting that. But I haven’t left you since, Jake. I’ve been here for you every time you’ve needed me. I will do anything you need. Just let me try. Something’s wrong, and you know it, and I can help. Whatever it takes—”

A crash cuts him short. It’s a sudden crackle of undergrowth, but it’s not me. Jacob spins, gun up.

“Out!” he says in a guttural growl. “You! Girl! Out!”

When no answer comes, he fires, and Dalton lunges to his feet, and Jacob spins on him. Dalton puts his hands on his head again. I’m close enough that I can see sweat pouring off him. But I’m not close enough to get a clear shot if Jacob fires. I move into a better position as quickly and silently as I can.

“Out!” Jacob says. “Out or I shoot Eric.”

A figure stumbles from the forest then. It’s Anders, hiding his bound hands behind his back.

“Yo
u?” Jacob says. “Where is the girl?”

“She’s not here,” Anders says. “That was me. It’s just me.”

“Liar!” Jacob spins, peering into the forest.

I duck behind a tree.

“It’s just Will,” Dalton says. “My deputy. You’ve seen him in the forest with me. You saw him earlier. I thought it was Casey, but it must have been Will.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, Jacob. It’s Will.”

“Eric’s telling the truth,” Anders says. “You’re not feeling well, and you’re confused and—”

“Shut up.”

I peek around the tree to see Jacob with the gun trained on Dalton. My heart stops for a second. Then I force myself to move, to creep toward them, my own weapon raised.

“You want to aim that gun somewhere, Jacob? Point it at me.” Anders tries for a smile. “You know your brother—he’s going to do what you want a whole lot faster if that gun is pointed at one of his friends.”

“Will?” Dalton says in a low voice. “Don’t.”

“He’s your friend?” Jacob says.

Anders nods. “Deputy, friend, sure. So point that gun over—”

“Friend, girl, everyone but me,” Jacob says to Dalton. “You stay away from me for them. For strangers.”

“No, no, no,” Anders says. “It’s not like that. We work together. Eric and Casey and—”

“You stay with them.” Jacob spits the words. “You left me. For them. For
strangers
.”

I see his finger move on the trigger. And I run. I don’t shoot. I can’t shoot. They’re too close together and there isn’t enough light. So I run, making as much noise as I can, certain that Jacob will hear and stop. I see a blur of motion, and I’m moving too fast to realize what it is until I hear the shot, and then I see that Anders has launched himself—not at Jacob but in front of Dalton.